


Voglio Ballare Con Te

by cutthroatpixie



Series: Yuuri Week 2017 [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Day 4, Detroit, Gen, Theme: Music/Dance, Yuuri Week 2017, dance club, there is no underage drinking bc phichit behaves but there is some drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutthroatpixie/pseuds/cutthroatpixie
Summary: Phichit always says he never misses a step anyway, that he looks like a professional even out in the informal environment of the Detroit clubs, that he takes everyone else’s breath away, but Yuuri is entirely convinced he’s exaggerating as usual.





	Voglio Ballare Con Te

Yuuri comes back to his apartment one day and is immediately met with a shirt being thrown in his face.

“Hi?”

“We’re going out.”

Yuuri peels the shirt (a black mesh one) off his face and looks around for Phichit. He doesn’t see his roommate anywhere near the front door, so he heads back to his bedroom. “Why are we going out?”

“We’re young, Yuuri! We’re alive! We need to dance!”

“We’ve been dancing all day,” Yuuri responds. He’s teasing, but Phichit doesn’t need to know that just yet. “And aren’t you always saying I’m an old man who never has any fun?”

“I haven’t said that in at least a week. Past Yuuri is an old man who never has any fun, present Yuuri is the life of the party and is coming out with me tonight.”

“If you insist. But I’m not wearing this.” Yuuri tosses the mesh shirt back to Phichit. “It’s more your thing.”

“Wear whatever you want.” Phichit’s room is already a mess of clothes and shoes thrown all over the place and the mesh shirt only adds to the chaos. “I’d suggest those yoga pants of yours, though. Might even get us into the club for free.”

“They will not.”

They do.

The bouncer working that night takes one look at Phichit’s well chosen outfit and Yuuri’s hastily thrown together one and that’s apparently enough to get them moved up in line and into the club (with a few free drink tickets thrown in for Yuuri).

“I can’t believe you were right.” Yuuri is nearly yelling over the pulse of the music pumping through the club.

“Of course I was! That bouncer loves you!”

“We’ve never been here before.”

Yuuri doesn’t hear whatever it is Phichit says next but it must not be that important, since immediately after Phichit grabs both Yuuri’s hands and drags him off to the dance floor.

Both of them are trained dancers, both have studied various forms, both classical and modern, but the second they get out into a club and feel the  _ boom pound boom  _ of the bass and the erratic slide of the synthesizer, all that training goes out the door and it’s the time to dance as their bodies feel like.

Phichit’s body, apparently, feels like spinning around and dragging Yuuri with him until he’s dizzy and stumbling and laughing.

“We’re going to knock someone over.”

“It’s a new dance style,” Phichit insists. “All the rage!”

Some girls to Yuuri’s left look in their direction and giggle. He thinks he recongises them, maybe from the university or from a dance class, but in the dim light of the club it’s hard to tell. 

Phichit pulls his hands away from Yuuri’s and waves at the girls, so clearly at least he knows them. They inch closer to Yuuri and Phichit and begin dancing as well, keeping a comfortable distance as the four of them wind and sway to the music. 

“Your friend is cute,” Yuuri hears one of the girls say. He assumes she’s talking to him.

“You should tell him that,” Yuuri replies. “I’m sure Phichit would love to hear it.”

She just looks at Yuuri and laughs. “Phichit doesn’t need to hear how cute he is anymore. I was talking about you.”

“Ah.” Yuuri flushes a bit but the music is still going strong so he dances on, letting the the rhythm ease any minor embarrassment he feels at misreading the situation. The girl doesn’t say anything further, but she doesn’t leave either, so he assumes he hasn’t made too big of a faux pas anyway.

Twenty minutes later, the combination of movement and hundreds of bodies all shoved into one small space has both Yuuri and Phichit starting to sweat. Nobody seems to care, nobody at the dance clubs ever care, but Yuuri subconsciously checks to make sure he isn’t already getting pit stains.

“You’re fine,” Phichit says knowingly. “Drinks?”

“You can’t get anything.”

“But I get all the free soda I could ever want!”

The music is still pulsing through them as they make their way to the bar, bodies bump into them left and right. As promised, Phichit gets his free cola for being the “designated driver”, Yuuri uses one of his tickets for a free cocktail, and they take a break to catch their breaths and just listen to the sounds all around them.

Soon enough, they’re back on the floor in full force.

Yuuri’s arms wind around, over his head, ghosting against his sides, shoulders bumping against Phichit’s, fingers grazing his neck. He’s always lost himself in dance, always felt the music vibrate through him in ways he didn’t know if other people did, and being out with his best friend, instead of in a dance studio or an ice rink, is no different in that sense. 

Not worrying about keeping his posture perfect or keeping his step sequence timing tight or replicating the choreography of another person  _ is _ different, though. He loves ballet, loves ballroom dancing, enjoys latin and jazz and tap and hip hop and every other class he’s ever taken, but it’s a different experience entirely to just be able to… be. To let his posture slip a little, to have nobody care if he misses a step because there are no steps to miss, not really. 

(Phichit always says he never misses a step anyway, that he looks like a professional even out in the informal environment of the Detroit clubs, that he takes everyone else’s breath away, but Yuuri is entirely convinced he’s exaggerating as usual.)

Music flows through the speakers, into the ground, up through Yuuri’s feet, and after making its way through his entire form, he returns the music right back with some of his own.

Some guys from the hockey team come to talk to him and Phichit and pull Yuuri out of his dance induced trance. Unai hands him a drink, with a, “Wow I don’t think you even noticed we were here until now!”

“He didn’t,” Phichit shouts. “He got lost in the fine art of electronica.”

Yuuri doesn’t even argue. He knows as well as anyone else that he can’t help but lose focus on everything else when he dances.

Unai offers an arm and Yuuri takes it. He’d hesitated the first few times people had asked him to dance when Phichit took him out, but he reminds himself it’s all in good fun, that even if these people aren’t really his friends, they are Phichit’s and he sees them nearly everyday at the rink and they probably aren’t asking just to make fun of him for it later.

Those little drops of worry melt away as the song changes and Unai leads him around the floor. They don’t dance long before Yuuri is back to dancing with Phichit, and then another member of the hockey team, and then Ketty (he doesn’t know when she got there, but it’s always possible she’d been there the entire time), and then Phichit again.

By the time everyone else is ready to leave, when the club is nearing closing time, Yuuri is still going strong.

“He always puts up a fight when I ask him to go dancing,” Phichit says, even though Yuuri had so not put up one bit of fight that evening. “But then he’s always the last man standing!”

“He’s got some magical stamina man, I’ll never understand it.”

The others bid them goodnight and he and Phichit walk off in the direction of their apartment.

The music is gone, but it still somehow flows through Yuuri’s mind and his ears. If he continues to dance down the sidewalk as they walk home, he hardly thinks anyone can blame him.


End file.
